Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (18 page)

I
N
THE
KITCHEN
, Jane heard the door bells chime and then . . . nothing.

“Lindsey?” she called.

“I’m on break,” the teenager yelled.

Jane sighed and wiped her floury hands on her apron. She turned back to the baker’s bench, where Rudy Jackson, her other new hire, was learning how to prep for the following day. “After you get the cinnamon rolls formed, you need to cut them. An inch thick. And then you place them, twelve rolls to a half sheet, about this far apart,” she said, demonstrating with her thumb and forefinger. “Okay?”

Rudy scratched his bandanna, eyeing the long rectangle of dough slathered with butter and layered with brown sugar and cinnamon. “Sure. No problem.”

His standard response. He was either incredibly quick on the uptake—
Please, let him be quick
—or overwhelmed.

Jane was feeling fairly overwhelmed herself. Hiring staff was supposed to make her life easier. But at least in the beginning, it made everything more complicated.

Like sex.

She pushed the thought away.

“You have any questions, you come get me,” she told Rudy.

“No problem.”

With a last anxious glance at the dough, Jane headed for the front, where Lindsey Gordon sat at a table, texting.

Over by the display cakes, Meg Fletcher waited, looking sharp and put together and vibrating with nervous energy. Despite moving back to Dare Island almost a year and a half ago, she still acted like she lived in New York City. She had conducted her initial wedding cake consultation the same way Jane imagined she operated her public relations company—with fierce decisiveness and attention to detail.

“Hi. We need to talk about my cake order,” she said as soon as Jane appeared.

Even for Meg, this was abrupt. Bride nerves, Jane thought, and smiled reassuringly. “Let me get your folder. But I think you’re all set. October, right?”

Meg looked tense. “There’s been a change of plans.”

“Oh.”
Uh-oh
. “Well, if you want to change your order, we still have plenty of time.”

“No.” Meg’s blue eyes welled with sudden tears. “We don’t.”

Jane’s stomach sank. She genuinely liked Meg. And Sam. They seemed like the perfect couple—smart, determined, devoted. If the wedding was off . . . If Meg had changed her mind . . . Or Sam had . . .

They had everything going for them. If they couldn’t make a relationship work, what chance did ordinary mortals have?

She glanced around the nearly empty bakery. “Lindsey, we’re pretty quiet. Why don’t you go home for the day?”

“Do I still get paid for my last fifteen minutes?”

“No. But you can make up the time tomorrow.”

“Great.”

While Lindsey clocked out, Jane arranged two lemon-iced sugar cookies on a plate and brought them to Meg
.
“Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee, and we’ll talk.”

Meg sniffed mightily. “No coffee.”

“Okay.” Jane pressed a napkin into her hand and led her to a nearby table. “Tea? Chocolate? Let me get you something.”

“I’m fine.” Meg sat, dabbing at her face. “I just . . . My stomach’s upset.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s hormones.”

Jane blinked. “Hormones.”

Meg stuck out her chin. “I’m pregnant.”

“Wow. That’s awesome! Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Twelve weeks.” Meg took a deep breath. “We’re moving up the wedding to May.”

“I’m so happy for you. What wonderful news.”

Meg dried her eyes. “It really is. I’m happy, too. I’m thirty-seven years old. The doctor said I might have trouble getting pregnant. Which is why I went off my birth control pills,” she added wryly.

“So this isn’t really unexpected,” Jane said.

“It kind of is. We were using condoms.” Meg blew her nose. “Mostly. And then last week we had our first ultrasound, and it’s twins.”

Jane gaped. “Twins!”

Meg laughed. “I know, right? You look the way I felt. Those two little heartbeats. And Sam . . .” Meg’s face, her whole body, softened as she spoke her fiancé’s name. “He was holding my hand. He actually had tears in his eyes. It was pretty freaking amazing.”

Aw, that was just so sweet. Jane felt a definite twinge of . . . not envy. Wistfulness, maybe. Not because of the babies, although she had always dreamed of more children, brothers or sisters for Aidan. But it would be so nice to have a Sam in her life, holding her hand.

Okay, not Sam.

Because despite Sam’s truck, his building business, and carefully cultivated good ol’ boy charm, Jane couldn’t imagine a life with him. The things she would be expected to wear
and say and do as the wife of Sam Grady, things that came so naturally to Meg, would fit Jane like a bad pair of jeans—chafing in all the wrong places.

Sam would always be thoughtful. Polite.

He wouldn’t tickle her sense of humor with inappropriate remarks or irritate her to the point of snapping back. He didn’t make her want to brain him with a frying pan one moment and jump his bones the next. He’d never stood at her wash sink, elbows deep in suds, the top button of his jeans unfastened and a drop of water sliding down his . . .

Her breath shuddered out.

Focus, Jane.

“Do you think four tiers is too many?” Meg asked. “We’re not expecting everyone to be able to make the wedding. Not on such short notice.”

“We can change the size of the tiers and keep the same design,” Jane said. “You can give me a final headcount about a week before the wedding.”

“That would be great.”

“Let me get your order, and we can go over it together.”

In the kitchen, Rudy was still filling pans with tomorrow’s cinnamon rolls.

“Those look great,” Jane said. “When you finish each tray, get it in the proofing cabinet with the Danish so they can slow rise overnight in the refrigerator.”

“No problem.”

Her cake orders were organized by date in a thick binder over the pastry table. Tucking the book under one arm, she filled a mug and carried both to Meg.

“Lemon ginger tea,” she said, setting the mug on the table. “No caffeine, and it’ll help settle your stomach.”

Meg peered into the cup. “Seriously?”

Jane shrugged. Smiled. “Well, I can vouch for the no-caffeine part, at least.” She flipped open the binder. “So what date are we looking at for the wedding?”

“We were thinking the weekend between Mother’s Day and Memorial Day. Sunday. Say, three o’clock?”

“Perfect. I close at one. I can deliver and set up in plenty of time.” Jane clipped the binder and moved the page with cake order and design sketch near the front.

“You’re sure changing the date won’t be a problem?”

“Not at all.” Not much. “Not this early in the season.”

“Thank goodness. I was afraid you’d be overbooked and I’d have to serve a tower of Twinkies.”

Jane laughed. “Like a croque-en-bouche. It’s a French wedding cake,” she explained when Meg looked blank. “Choux pastry balls piled into a cone and held together with threads of caramel.”

“Yum.” She took a cautious bite of cookie. “These are delicious. Do you ever think of expanding?”

Jane glanced through the sliding doors at the rain beating down on the frame of her new patio enclosure. “I am. But things are kind of at a halt right now.”

In more ways than one.

“It’s the rain,” Meg said.

It wasn’t only the rain.

She hadn’t seen the crew in four days. Or Gabe.

Oh, he’d dropped by. Stopped in for coffee, for lunch. But always when there were other people around, customers or her new staff. They hadn’t managed to have a single conversation, let alone sex.

Well, what did you expect?

Nothing, she admitted. She’d been so focused on doing the deed that she hadn’t thought beyond dinner and seduction.

She certainly didn’t expect everything to change just because they’d had sex. But she wasn’t prepared for things to go on exactly as before, either.

“Not expanding the building,” Meg was saying. “Growing your business. More wedding cakes. Specialty cakes.”

Jane pulled her mind back to the job. “I already do most of the weddings here on the island. If I did more events on the mainland, I’d need a new refrigerator van. And a driver to handle setup.”

“You should think about it,” Meg said. “It would be good business for you in the off-season.”

The bells over the door rattled and chimed.

Gabe filled the doorway, the jacket over his broad shoulders dark with rain.

Lucky tried to follow him inside, only to be brought up short by the leash wrapped around the porch railing.

“Sit,” Gabe ordered.

The dog grinned, tongue lolling, tail wagging.

“I mean it.” Gabe cocked a finger at the dog and then pointed outside. “Go. Sit.”

Lucky heaved a sigh and retreated to the porch, where he collapsed on his haunches.

Gabe glanced over, smiling, at Jane. “Hey.”

Instant brain melt.

“Hi.” She swallowed, hoping she wasn’t drooling as visibly as the dog.

“Gabe! How are you?” Meg asked cheerfully.

He nodded, his gaze still on Jane. “Meg.”

Heat rolled through Jane.
Shoot
.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she said.

He looked at her, his beautiful hazel eyes unreadable.

“Because, you know, you’re . . .” She flapped her hand. “Busy.”

His gaze dropped to the open binder on the table. “Looks like you’re busy, too.”

“We’re going over my cake order,” Meg said.

He angled his head to see the page. “This it?”

“Yes,” Jane said. The cake was one of her most sophisticated designs, a welcome change from the gum-paste shells and starfish that most beach brides requested—four off-set square layers with different textures of silver and white fondant and edible pearls.

“Pretty,” he said.

So pretty
, he had whispered against her mouth.

A warm glow suffused her chest, pride and embarrassment mingled. “Thank you.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Almost as pretty as dessert Monday night.”

Hot color scalded Jane’s face.

“What dessert?” Meg asked.

“Just something I was trying out,” Jane said.

“Really.” Meg widened her eyes. “How was it?”

“Good. I’ll let you get back to work,” Gabe said, looking at Jane. “I just came to tell you I’ll be by later to put the last layer of mud on the drywall.”

She was pretty sure that wasn’t a euphemism.

Her stupid heart beat faster anyway. “I’m training Rudy this afternoon.” Meaning,
We won’t be alone.

Another long, unreadable look. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Mom’s hoping to see you for Sunday dinner,” Meg said.

“You tell her I appreciate that very much,” Gabe said.

“Unless you have other plans,” she added brightly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know. You just take care of yourself.” That smile tugged at Gabe’s mouth again. “All of yourselves.”

“Wait,” Jane said. “You knew she was pregnant?”

As if she needed another reminder of how quickly gossip traveled on the island.

Gabe winked at Meg. “Second hottest mother on the island. I’ll see you,” he said to Jane and walked out.

“Whew.” Meg mimed fanning herself with one perfectly manicured hand. “If I wasn’t hot before, I certainly am now.”

Jane was ready to burst into flames herself. Her cheeks, her face, her whole body burned. Thank goodness she’d already sent Lindsey home.

“So.” Meg eyed her speculatively. “You and Gabe.”

Jane busied herself with the binder. Meg was one of the smartest people Jane knew. She could probably share all kinds of good, hard, practical advice about love.

If Jane wanted to hear it.

Which she kind of . . . didn’t.

Monday night had been special. A moment out of time, a secret, selfish indulgence. Sex and chocolate. Fantasy stuff,
like one of her romance novels—a harmless escape from her careful, safe, predictable existence. As long as she hugged the memories to herself, she could almost pretend she had made the whole thing up.

But if she talked to Meg, if she dragged her hopes and desires into the light of day, she would be acknowledging they were . . . real.

And then where would she be?

“Come on,” Meg coaxed. “You know all my secrets now. Nobody’s judging you.”

“Maybe not in New York City,” Jane said. “Probably nobody cares how you behave in New York. But this is Dare Island.”